


Roll Up the Partition

by DoctorSyntax



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Episode: s10e01 My Struggle, F/M, Limousine Sex, Missing Scene, One Night Stands, Polyamory Negotiations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-20 17:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6019381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorSyntax/pseuds/DoctorSyntax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>[outgoing text] 7:52 pm</b>
  <br/>
  <i>How do you feel about Tad O'Malley?</i>
</p><p>  <b>[incoming text] 7:58 pm</b><br/><i>If it's permission you're after, stick to the normal rules and you have a green light. See you at home.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Roll Up the Partition

**Author's Note:**

> This, like "Green Glass," is a standalone snippet from a larger story I'm still working on. The poly stuff is mostly in the background but I left it in because I believe in creating the content you want to see in the fandom. The name of Scully's partner is intentionally omitted.
> 
> Title is from Beyoncé's "Partition."

As she leads Ted through to the nearest exit of the hospital, blazer draped over her arm, Scully types out a message on her cell. Their footfalls, the click of her heels, echo in the mostly-empty basement hallway and drown out the soft noise of her phone's keys.

**[outgoing text] 7:52 pm**  
_How do you feel about Tad O'Malley?_

They've beaten his driver to the side door, so Tad accompanies her to her car to drop off her briefcase. The sun hasn't been down long but there's already a chill to the otherwise gentle breeze that picks up as they cross the parking lot. Her legs are cold. It's her own fault: she hadn't put her pantyhose back on when she changed out of her scrubs, because she had a feeling they were just going to come off anyway, but she hadn't counted on the temperature dropping rapidly as the day drew to a close. 

Tad's in the middle of extolling the virtues of the Italian restaurant they're headed to when a soft chime from her phone interrupts him.

"Excuse me," she says, sliding the phone from her blazer pocket. "I just need to…"

Tad nods. "Sure."

**[incoming text] 7:56 pm**  
_The talk show host?_

**[outgoing text] 7:57 pm**  
_He's invited me to dinner tonight and promised no shop talk. He's been fairly transparent about his intentions._

**[incoming text] 7:58 pm**  
_If it's permission you're after, stick to the normal rules and you have a green light. See you at home._

She clicks her phone shut and looks up with a smile. "Sorry. You were saying?"

*

Mulder inadvertently tips the scales weighing her decision about how the night will go. She and Tad are not ten minutes on the road, mostly through a glass of champagne each and chatting about the latest New Horizon photos of Pluto when Mulder calls. She answers because it might be important or case-related, but as per usual he's all whipped up about something incomprehensible and there's a 50-50 chance he's been drinking.

They haven't seen each other in months and then he showed up, on the most overcast day of past week, wearing sunglasses and pointedly not driving. And then every other sentence out of his mouth was a passive-aggressive jab at her for leaving or for having the audacity to be someone Tad finds attractive, so no, she doesn't want to drop what's turning out to be an enjoyable evening and run to his side. Especially after he hangs up on her.

"Here's the thing," Scully starts, sliding back into the limo as gracefully as she can in her tight skirt. "I'm in a relationship right now."

To his credit, Tad doesn't try to act like the information is unrelated to his plans for the evening. "Ah." He hands her back her glass of champagne, and kind of nods his head toward the car door. "With…?"

She shakes her head. "No." She doesn't volunteer any other information, waiting to see how he will react, and after a moment of silence Tad sighs and leans back in the seat. He spreads his hands in a gesture of surrender. 

"Well, I can't say I'm not disappointed, but I'm not surprised either, a beautiful woman like you."

Her mouth twists into a smile, ducking her head slightly, because she hadn't expected him to back off so easily. She's glad he did. He's a player for sure, but the rules of his game appear to be on the level. So she thumbs open her phone, scrolling to the pertinent conversation before revealing, "It's an open relationship, though." 

Using her free hand she covers the contact name and all the texts except the ones Tad needs to see, twisting her wrist awkwardly to show him the phone. He scans the exchange quickly, then looks up. "Normal rules?"

"In a nutshell, use protection and don't spend the night."

A grin spreads across his face as the limo slows to a stop. "Hey, would you look at that. Those are my rules too," he drawls, confirming her earlier suspicion. A player through and through. 

But that's just what the doctor ordered for herself.

*

The restaurant Tad chose is elegant—tastefully decorated with a quiet ambiance, but not so upscale that she feels underdressed in her work clothes and lack of hosiery. She'd be more impressed by his choice if she wasn't certain it was his go-to place. She has fifteen years' distance between her and the no-tell-motels and greasy diners of her FBI days, and while she'd happily endured them at the time for the sake of her company, never let it be said that Dana Scully doesn't appreciate a good wining and dining.

And Tad O'Malley is, without a doubt, a well-practiced master of wining and dining. When she mentions she's famished from hours in the operating theater, he asks her about her work. If he's not interested in the answers, he's a better actor than she'd given him credit for, because he keeps up the thread of dialogue for a while—the research behind it, possible cures, mortality rate. She tries to turn off Doctor Scully and speak in general terms, because it's been a long time since anyone showed so much interest in what she does.

He seems to understand that she's not interested in discussing her relationship, which is unusual but welcome, and stays away from anything that might touch on the topic. Instead he regales her with wild stories about working on a television set. She has no doubt he tells them often, in a similar setting, but that just means he's had the opportunity to perfect his timing and delivery. 

He keeps throwing little compliments in there, and it's nice. She knows it's, for the most part, the second nature of a man who makes his living on B.S. and charm, but sometimes it's just nice to have some good food, good wine, good company, without having to care about the deeper meaning of it all. 

Nothing Tad says has a deeper meaning. Here and now, in a context where he's not trying to send Mulder off chasing his own tail, she can appreciate that about him.

The lack of pretense between them is so refreshing it's almost intoxicating. Maybe she's imagining it, but knowing that neither expects anything from the other beyond a pleasant night and some no-strings-attached sex enhances the mood. By the time he's gently insisting to pay the check, she's keyed up like they're halfway through foreplay and he hasn't even touched her.

*

He offers his arm as they leave the restaurant, which is ridiculous, and she doesn't take it. "Where to next?" he asks, mostly unruffled by her rejection.

She answers his question as if he'd asked _Your place or mine?_ "Either way, you'd have to drive me back to the hospital afterward."

"Then it sounds like whichever is closest, for simplicity's sake. Or we could pick up your car on the way." He leans in the passenger window, instructing the chauffeur to head toward the hospital unless they tell him otherwise.

He holds the limo door open and she climbs in, wishing again that she'd worn pants to work today. But then again, he probably gets a nice view of her ass. Once inside, he slides in next to her, resting a hand on her knee.

She has no idea where he lives, and she's reluctant to let him know where she does. It all seems so complicated. Besides, car retrieval and giving out addresses are going to drag this out, which is the exact opposite of what she's looking for.

She reaches up and drags her knuckles along the seat behind her. "What about option three?" The limo lurches slightly as they pull away from the curb.

"Option three…" he prompts, but the look on his face tells her he knows where she's going with this.

She nods in the general direction of the partition. "Does that roll up?" she asks, like it's a question that comes out of her mouth every day.

Tad grins. "Dana, you wicked girl. As a matter of fact, it does." With one fingertip he taps a button on the armrest, lightly. "Care to do the honors?"

She'd have to climb over his lap to reach the button. No doubt that was his idea, but she'd rather not give him the satisfaction of following his hookup script exactly. "You go ahead."

The motor whirs to life. "Say goodbye to Lester and Tyler," Tad tells her, waving as the backs of his chauffeur's and bodyguard's heads disappear behind the glossy black panel. "Bye, guys."

The window shuts with a soft thud and silence descends on the interior of the limo. Tad cracks a grin, patting his lap. "Come on, Agent Scully, don't get shy on me now."

Slowly, not breaking eye contact, she shifts a little in her seat to pull her skirt up nearly to her hips. Tad's eyes flick down to take in the expanse of skin she reveals. He looks so appreciative that maybe she's glad she wore a skirt after all. "One more rule."

"What's that?" he asks, tearing his gaze away her thighs as she climbs into his lap, straddling him as fluidly as she can, considering they're in a moving vehicle. His tie comes in handy for steadying herself as she finds the right position.

When she's settled she leans in, nipping his earlobe as his hands slide down to cup her ass and squeeze. " _Don't_ call me Scully."

The muscles in his upper arms flex when she grips them, and it takes her a second to realize it's because he's wrapping his hands around her elbows and pulling her face level with his. He skips over the usual awkward fumbling of a first kiss—his kiss is confident, if tinged with an urgency she supposes should be flattering.

She lets go of him to work on his tie; he'd loosened it during dinner and not put his jacket back on when they left. She's just now realizing it was in preparation for this moment, so she could hook her middle finger underneath the knot and pull the entire thing undone with one smooth movement. "You're very clever," she whispers into his mouth, and she can feel his smile.

"Glad you noticed." His hands are scrabbling at her hips, yanking the material of her blouse free from where it's tucked into her skirt. His hands are warm and smooth against her heated skin; his nails scratch ever-so-lightly into her lower back as he pulls her flush against his body.

Even between her panties and bunched-up skirt, there's no mistaking the erection pressed into her groin. She grinds against it lightly just to hear what kind of noises he'll make, and is rewarded with a low moan that reverberates through her entire nervous system. "Fuck, Dana, come on." His hands tighten on her hips.

"What's the rush?" she asks, unbuttoning her blouse down past her sternum. She nods at his chest, and he gets the idea, opening up his shirt to reveal a gentle smattering of soft-looking chest hair and some halfway decent pecs. She runs a hand down his torso, admiring the way his lightly defined muscles jump at her touch.

When she reaches his belt buckle, she tugs on it. "Get this off," she orders.

“Bossy," he says in that tone of voice that means he likes it. He proves her suspicion correct when, without provocation, he goes a couple steps beyond and opens his fly, pushing his pants halfway down his thighs. She rubs a hand over the erection pressing against his striped boxer briefs, then reaches in and pulls it out through the front hole.

His dick is hot and hard in her hand; he's circumcised, which is not something she has a ton of experience with, so she keeps her touches light and careful. He seems to be enjoying himself anyway, if the noises he's making are any indication. He reaches toward her skirt just as she’s finding a good rhythm. "Now you’re the one who should slow down."

"Or you could just help me catch up." She's probably way ahead of him, actually, but a little competitiveness never hurt anyone in bed. He reaches up her skirt, and it takes her a second to realize he's trying to find the hem of her panties to pull them down. She bats his hand away impatiently. "Takes too long," she explains, hooking a finger on the crotch of her underwear to pull it aside. 

It’s impossible to think this is the first time a girl’s done that in his presence, but he pauses, staring, like he hadn’t expected it from her. Normally she enjoys reactions like that, but this time she’s just impatient for him to get moving.

"Or haven't you ever seen—" she starts, but he's slipping two fingers inside her, not bothering to ease in because she's dripping wet, and her sarcastic comment gets lost in a gasp. He adds a third and curls, thumb pressing down on her clit from the other side. It’s so zero-to-sixty that the adrenaline in her system skyrockets, flooding her brain until it overwhelms everything but sensation and reaction.

"Fuck, Dana," Tad says, voice low, like he’s on the same wavelength. The need in his tone does a number on her head. "Let me fuck you." His other hand slips up under her shirt to draw lazy circles on her lower back, almost on her tattoo.

"Yeah," she breathes, trying not to miss his fingers as he pulls them out of her body. Her clutch, and the condom stashed in it, is on the other seat. But before she can move off him to get it, Tad leans over and pops open a compartment in the limo door.

"Classy," she drawls as he pulls out a foil packet. He winks, ripping it open and rolling the condom on his stiff cock. "What, you don't open those with your teeth? What kind of pickup artist are you?"

"You're _salty_ when you're turned on, you know that?" he asks, yanking her closer to him. Her knees hit the back of the seat and slide outward, spreading her legs wide. He's grinning like she's the funniest person he's ever met.

She just guides his cock to her entrance, pushing her panties aside again. "Shut up, Tad."

He doesn't answer verbally, but Scully feels the tip of his cock press inside her and—and then he _stops_ , like an asshole. He grabs and immobilizes her hips when she shifts, trying to force him deeper. After a few seconds she opens her mouth to ask what he’s waiting for, but before she gets a single syllable out he yanks her body down, his cock filling her in one slick slide.

He looks pretty smug at her wide-eyed surprise; she realizes belatedly it’s what he’d been trying to accomplish. She wants to slap his pretty face, but in the end the need buzzing through her wins out, so she counts the score as tied and leaves it at that. Tad’s grip on her hipbones tightens as she braces one hand against the back of the seat. He’s trying to direct her movements but he’s moving too slow, so goddamn slow, so she uses her leverage to break his rhythm and replace it with something a little more satisfying.

He accepts the change of pace easily, letting go to grab at her chest, squeezing one of her breasts through her bra. "Wish I could get my mouth on your tits," he whispers in her ear, and never let it be said that Dana Scully is not accommodating in bed. Her bra clasps in the back, and there's no earthly way she's stopping to take her shirt off, so she twists an arm behind her back, popping the clasp through the fabric of her blouse with the ease of experience.

Her show of dexterity is rewarded with a raised eyebrow as he pushes her bra up. As they soon discover, he's a little too tall to actually reach her breasts with his mouth, but that's not surprising, and she's got a time-tested workaround. Grabbing one of his hands, she places it against her lower back and leans until he gets the idea and takes her weight. It doesn't seem to put him under much strain, which is good; she loves strong men, and lately she's been spoilt. From this angle it's easier for him to lean in and suck one nipple into his mouth.

It also changes the angle of his cock, letting him drive deeper inside her. Both new developments are much appreciated.

She moans, hardly caring that the Tad’s staff must be able to hear. They’re probably used to it, and besides, she'd challenge anyone to stay quiet when they've got an experienced lover worshipping their breasts. Her head tips back; she can't help it and is long past the point where she’d bother trying, anyway. 

Tad gets the thumb of his free hand on her clit again, and then brings her upright for a kiss, trapping his hand between their bodies. The added pressure, plus the slow, confident movements of his thumb, couple to pull her close to orgasm. Her breathing must be getting ragged—she can't hear it over the pounding of her heart, but Tad must be able to, because he's whispering, urging her to come—telling her how fucking gorgeous she looks—how much he wants to feel her come on his dick— _come on, come for me, Dana_ —

And she does.

She moves, mindlessly, hips still rolling, body still seeking his, trying to draw out the sensation for as long as she can. If it's possible, his cock feels better inside her than it did before, like it belongs there; she never wants this to end. She can feel him, his movements becoming a little more frenzied, breath shortening—she knows by the way his fingers tighten on her skin that he's close, and then, by his groan, that he's coming.

She squeezes her pelvic muscles around him, out of habit, and he laughs breathlessly. "Too sensitive," he says, but doesn't make a move to stop her. She stops herself, instead.

And then she realizes, the limo's stopped too. It jars her back to reality. How long has it been stopped? Where are they? The last instruction the driver had was to head for the hospital unless he heard otherwise, so they're probably back at Our Lady of Sorrows.

They just finished having sex in the parking lot of the church-run hospital that employs her, she muses as she eases off Tad's lap (to the mild protest of her knees—she's not in her twenties anymore). She is absolutely going to have to go to confession for this. Just... maybe not her normal church.

"We must be here," Tad says. She's noticed he has a fondness for stating the obvious—maybe it's a talk show host thing. He's already got his pants done up, and he's working on his shirt. Dimly, Scully realizes she should probably be doing the same thing, so she sets to making herself presentable enough for a hail-Mary-filled dash to her car.

He waits for her to be covered, if not completely put-together, before rolling down the partition. "Where have we landed, Lester?"

"The hospital, sir. The lot from which I picked you up earlier." His chauffeur, obviously accustomed to this kind of thing, doesn’t even turn his head.

Well, at least her car is a maximum of fifty feet away. That's something. With a little bit of luck, she can get out of the limo and into her car without encountering any coworkers—or, God forbid, one of the nuns.

She's just about ready to go, running her fingers through her hair in a futile gesture, when Tad gently grips the side of her face. "Your lipstick is all smudged," he says, wiping at it and probably just making it worse.

"Lost cause, I'm afraid," Scully responds, shifting away from him as subtly as she can manage. She doesn't bother telling him there's some all over his face, too. "It's dark, and I don't think I'll run into anyone."

She rushes through goodbyes with Tad, feeling a small twinge of conscience about brushing him off. She did have a good time; he was decent company and a great lay, but every second that passes makes her more nervous that someone will come walking out and wonder what the limo's here for. She could probably explain Tad, but she’d be harder pressed to come up with a plausible reason for her disarray and why she’s still here when she clocked out two hours ago.

It's only when she's out of the limo, across the parking lot and inside her car that she begins to breathe easier. From the relative safety of her locked car, she types out a quick message.

**[outgoing text] 10:02pm**  
_Heading home now. ETA 20 min. Stay up if you can, I think you'll want to hear about this one._

She's idling at a red light, dreaming of a hot shower and change of clothes, when her phone chimes at her. As she pulls it out the screen fills the cabin of her car with ambient light.

**[incoming text] 10:07pm**  
_That interesting, huh?_

**[incoming text] 10:07pm**  
_I'm looking forward to the dramatic retelling. Drive safe._


End file.
